


My Love, What Happened Here?

by coasttocoast



Series: Times They Are a-Changing [3]
Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types, Scooby Doo Where Are You! (TV 1969)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coasttocoast/pseuds/coasttocoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Velm? I'm sorry."<br/>"I know," replies Velma, her voice sad.</p><p>In which Daphne copes and Velma wishes she could help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love, What Happened Here?

Daphne's sitting, stool pulled up to their kitchen counter, when Velma walks in. There's a magazine in front of her and she's idly flipping through it, her stockingless feet adorned by purple satin slippers swinging nonchalantly by her toes.

 

“Hey,” greets Velma after setting down her books. Her girlfriend's reply is soft, hardly audible. “Are you okay?” Velma inquires tentatively. She's not sure why she bothers to ask anymore; the answer is always the same.

 

“Of course I'm okay.” Daphne's voice is smooth, breezy, almost as if she wasn't lying. The usual sweetness and charm has turned sickly, and although unnoticed by most, it's noticed by Velma. She also notices Daphne doesn't turn to face her, instead choosing to study her magazine with vigorous intensity.

 

There's an inexplicable silence, making both women slightly uncomfortable. Closing her _Elle_ , Daphne moves to leave but is stopped by Velma who holds her by her shoulders. “Velm,” Daphne sighs tiredly in unison with Velma's voice pleading, “Daphne.”

 

Another silence comes, this one spent in an exchange of glares and pleading looks full of concern. “Daphne,” Velma tries again, “I know what Sanchez did to you. It's okay to not be okay. I can understand how y--”

 

“No,” Daphne exclaims, her voice resounding through their apartment. “No, Velma, you don't understand. You have _no_ idea how I feel right now so why don't you just go retreat back into your fucking bookstore where you don't have to fucking deal with real life!”

 

“Daph,” Velma begs, but the redhead storms past her and into their room. By the time the lock clicks, Velma can feel her body shaking with tears.

 

*** 

 

With an aching back, Velma wakes the next morning curled on the floor in the living room. Her head is propped up with a paperback edition of some Kathy Reichs novel which she assumes she thought might be a good substitute for a pillow at some point during the night although she seriously regrets it now. When she sits up, there's a woozy feeling in her head so she braces herself as she stands, making her way to the kitchen.

 

Stumbling in, she pours herself a glass of apple juice and stares at it before decidedly dumping it down the sink and taking out a mug to make tea. She's not sure when her wooziness turned into a throbbing in her head but she takes an aspirin anyways, drinking it down with tea that burns her mouth.

 

Daphne's not in the bedroom so Velma walks in to change her clothes. There's a sticky note on the closet and as much as Velma wants to ignore it, she feels obliged to at least skim through Daphne's neat cursive.

 

 _At the shop_ , the note reads, _Come down if you feel like it._

 

 ***

 

It's six at night, and Daphne's wearing uncharacteristically wrinkled jeans and a lavender sweatshirt that appears to be three sizes too large. She's carefully filing her nails when Velma walks in and switches the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

 

The two are quiet, analyzing each other's behavior and body language in attempt to scrounge up something to say.

 

“How about,” Velma says after what seems like forever, “we go back upstairs and have some dinner?”

 

 *** 

 

Daphne barely eats any of the dinner Velma had cooked, apologizing immensely. She hardly eats anything anymore. The physical effects of the Sanchez case had healed, but the psychological, the emotional ones had more than a ways to go. Watching Daphne's painfully thin body – one that had always been thin, faintly muscled – waste away even more put Velma into action. She had given Daphne over a year to suffer alone, a year she firmly regretted. It seemed almost unreal how things had quickly worsened over the past few weeks. Daphne changed outfits in the solitary comfort of the bathroom and wore layer upon layer, refusing to let Velma see her unclothed. In fact, the last case Velma could remember the gang – all five of them – had solved a case together was at least two months ago. The redhead refused to go out, confining herself to the bookstore and the apartment above.

 

She inspects Daphne silently, and the other woman's face twists, obviously expecting an answer to her apology.

 

“Velm? I'm sorry.”

 

“I know,” replies Velma, her voice sad.

 

*** 

 

They don't speak again until they're in their room, sitting and reading.

 

“Daphne, we have to talk about this.” In the dim light, Velma can see alarm cross Daphne's face and she realizes how dire she must have sounded. “It'll be okay,” she promises, then leans over and presses a kiss to her girlfriend's forehead. She intertwines their hands, and Daphne leans into her side, seemingly panicking slightly. Velma takes a moment to collect her thoughts, then speaks.

 

“I should have helped you. You told me not to but I should have. And I still should.” The shaking of Daphne's fragile shoulders tells Velma that she's crying, so she wraps her arms around her and Daphne moves into her even closer. “I don't know how you feel but Daph, you have to let me help you.

 

Muffled words come from Velma's side, and she interprets them as, “I don't deserve you.”

 

“Oh sweetheart, no. You deserve so much more than me.”

 

*** 

 

“He was going to kill me,” Daphne says, her voice slightly trembling. “He branded me, Velma. He tortured me. He-- he--”

 

“He's dead,” reminds Velma. “He won't hurt anyone ever again.”

 

“But he hurt me.” Daphne rests her head on her lover's shoulder. “Sometimes at night I feel like I'm still there, strapped to that bed. I feel his body, his hands on my skin. Or my fingers accidentally brush the back of my neck, and I feel those _numbers_. I was supposed to be his twelfth victim, Velm. And that's going to be there forever. I'm going to always know.”

 

Velma lifts the tear-stained face and presses a chaste kiss to the quivering lips. “I'm– we're not going to let him beat you, okay? You're wasting away, Daph. I'm scared to touch you because I fear you might break.”

 

“He told me I was disgusting. If I'm not good enough for a criminal,” Daphne laughs mirthlessly, “I'm certainly not good enough for you.” Her shoulder is nothing but skin stretched over bone, but Velma kisses it nonetheless. Into Daphne's fair skin, she murmurs something along the lines of: “you are the most important person in my life.”

 

Daphne hasn't trust many people since the Sanchez incident, but she thinks she can Velma.

 

 ***

 

The next day, Daphne accepts Fred's offer to join him and the rest of the gang for milkshakes at the diner downtown.

 

It's not much, Velma thinks, but it's a start.

 

 

 


End file.
